


A Little Jest in Your Step

by Anonymous



Series: Femslash Feb-rare-pair-y [1]
Category: Hiveswap
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Clowns and Legislacerators, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2021, Post-Ascension, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29149491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Your clown is giving the world the silent treatment. Welcome to the first day to the rest of your life.
Relationships: Chahut Maenad/Tyzias Entyyk
Series: Femslash Feb-rare-pair-y [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139327
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: Anonymous





	A Little Jest in Your Step

**Author's Note:**

> Happy femslash feb!!! 🎉🎉🎉 Can I write Tyzias well? No <3 But practice always helps and this was just that: practice.
> 
> Prompt: basorexia, the overwhelming desire to kiss

It's not the heavy coursework that gets to you. It's not the crowds in the cafeteria. It's not even the congregation that lurks behind the wall of your makeshift dorm.

No, the first thing that trips you up in your career- the career you've been fast-tracked for since you were 3 sweeps- is the clowns.

* * *

Your first day on The Reprisalient goes down generally how you expected it to: teal-bloods posture with the size of your big brains, and the clowns compare the size of their, well, everything else.

(For the record, your clown in particular has the biggest "everything else" among your peers. A blessing and a curse but, ultimately, your burden to bear as the brains of this operation.) 

Your names are called, you're paired with your clown. There's this whole ceremony that you mostly nap through. The head legislacerator explains the rules of this ship that you meticulously take note of. The Grand Highblood gets pious in the pulpit. 

After the sermon, trolls filter out to do what trolls do. Tealbloods gather together like congealing blood: clumped together yet fundamentally different. Most of them gossip about their new partner in various shades of "ugh." Some trolls get in a fight; not your business. A few more mixed groups slink off to, who knows, fuck in the chapel just because they never have before? Everyone is looking for a way to relieve stress. You bring your hand up to your mouth before you realize you left your mug on Alternia.

It occurs to you that maybe you should be... how would Stelsa put this? Mingling? Making connections?

Mostly, though, you're anxious to get started.

All in all, it's the least auspicious beginning to a most ambitious twist to your career path; at least you know it's not fate that has it out for you.

-

Fate may not have it out for you, but it's entirely possible you haven't been factoring the messiahs in your plans. 

Clowns aren't required to do much of anything, but you can spot a "strongly encouraged" when you see one.

Chahut hasn't been to church since she stepped foot on The Reprisalient. The clowns are gossiping.

And, well, the old adage holds true, too: teals talk. There's pressure from all sides, and even you are starting to feel the social pressure.

Which is probably why you break your three-week silent streak to cause problems on purpose with Chahut fucking Maenad.

"Is the silent treatment a testamm-" you stutter in an attempt to stifle your wigglerhood speech quirk, "testament to your faith or are you just hating to see me?"

She looks you up and down. Too bad for her; your brain is still your biggest feature.

"Faith," she says simply, popping the t, "is something I left behind the moment my boot touched these wretched halls."

"So, just hating to see me, then?"

Mostly, you're known for being "mellow," although Stelsa calls anyone who can speak below 80 decibels mellow. When Chahut laughs, though, you have to consciously stay seated. Holy hell. When you said you were going to keep pissing this is not at all what you meant.

At least you know first hand that you won't fail based on intimidation alone.

-

"What is it you want from your faith?" you ask her one day as you're walking through the halls.

You don't expect her to say anything- because she hasn't been- so you do what a legislacerator does best and speak for her.

"Peace? Spiritual fulfillment?"

No reaction. 

"Justice?"

She stops you.

"Just want it to be real," she says. "Had my peace. Found my spiritual fulfillment."

She doesn't let you pass. What is this, some kind of puzzle? You have to answer just right before she'll let you pass?

"Maybe stop being such a little bitch about it," you tell her, ducking under her arm. But Chahut is fast. She grabs you by the collar of your shirt and holds you up as gently as she'd hold a fussing kitten.

Well, if this is how you go, let it be known that it has _not_ been real-

"Space church fucking sucks."

-space church _fucking_ sucks and you never signed on to work with the circus anyway.

But you don't really have the energy to react.

"What keeps you up and fucking going? Got springs in here?" She pokes you in the stomach and you clench and curl like an isopod.

You'd like to reiterate that whole rant you had earlier, re: it has not been real.

But you can't really be angry- if only because you are so tired that most of your emotions these days are blunted- and you're finding it hard to be so scared when she is so lost.

"All I've got," you say, "is a plan."

She pushes your limp body against the wall. She gets in your face, so close you can see the cracks in her paint. Her breath washes over you and all you can think about is how hard you've been working specifically to avoid Alternia manufacturing more people like her. And how easily this all could have been avoided if she sat her plush ass down in the pews even just one time. Community is all a clown needs, or however that saying goes.

"My sweet sinnovator," she breathes. "What do I have but the messiahs above me and hell's pit below?"

"You have all of the information you need to make a difference," you say, trying not to count the teeth that poke out from beneath her lip. "All you have to do is work at it. And maybe read. Might be easier if you took your fingers out of your nook and used them to open your study guides."

"Now why would I get up to all that noise when I know you'll be getting up to it for me?"

You can't tell if she's talking about the reading or the work or the fingers in her nook, but a stab of irritation pulses through you all the same.

"Maybe you should do it because it's _something_ to do," you are still comparatively unperturbed as she drops you back to the ground.

The hallway is silent again, but the chuckle she lets out speaks for her.

It's going to be a long rest of your life.


End file.
